Hunny Baby Darling
by Crimson Vixen
Summary: IkkiKazu - Surely you’re not as discardable as the others. Not as easily forgotten as some starry eyed girl. No, no. You’re much more than that, aren’t you darling?


**A/N: **Guhhh things are going SO slow I could shoot myself. I'm finally back from my trip to Florida, which totally sucked all the creativity out of my system so I'm trying to get back on track. FaS will soon be getting the much needed attention it up to now hasn't been getting, as well as a few one shots here and there to get my vibe back. Take it easy on me this round, I'm really really off these days, and my writing is suffering. Crit is still welcome of course.

I already know what things are going to be pointed out anyway XD So bring it on, I'm not planning to change anything. So...

Of course, what better way to botch a story and characters than to try my hand and something kind've new again while still in a huge slump? Yup, so, yeah. Sorry I've been so out of it, guys, I do miss and love you all.

**EDIT: **Here you go guys, just a small doodle **Kitten **did for this story. Enjoy~

http:/ /i246. photobucket. com/ albums/ gg88/ crimvix/ hunnybabydarling .jpg

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**Air Gear**

_a fiction by Crimson Vixen_

**Hunny Baby Darling**

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When your back hits the edge of the table, you forget how to think, don't you? Thinking never would have gotten you here, with _him_, that guy you've known since before you can remember; the one that brings you down and builds you up all with one look. The guy who apparently knows just how to touch another boy because his hands feel skilled, like they know what they want. Knows what _he_ wants. Now sweety, if only _you_ did.

He's moving too fast, really, isn't he, sunshine? Got his lips trialing here, fingernails raking over there, panting in one ear one second and groaning against your collarbone the next. His spiky head smells like spice, his skin like musk; a strange aroma combination that strangles your sense of smell and leaves you with a blissful headache. Stars behind your eyes.

And hunny, this isn't a spur of the moment _thing_ like you're trying to convince yourself of, is it? This feels too planned. And this isn't the way you wanted your first kiss to happen, not until it's too late and you realize hey, it wasn't so bad and hey, maybe you kind of _like_ to be taken with a bit of force with little to no say in the matter.

Leave him in control; it's obviously what the guy wants. But oh, baby boy, you sweet, innocent, stupid little thing, you don't even know your left from right other than what they taught you in school, which you're quickly learning wasn't right at all! Because up is becoming down and resisting even the slightest screams 'yes!' at the top of its raw, needy lungs. Your body and your brain want two completely different things, it seems, but sweet thing, your lack of words is telling him all he needs to know so of course he's going to take what he can. And you, always aiming to please this creature, you're going to let him, aren't you?

His kisses are wet, his fingers are rough and painfully accurate – in short, he knows how to squeeze the strangest, most delicate sounds from your throat. The thing is, baby, when he goes to kiss you, you open your mouth. And your hands aren't desperately clasping fistfuls of his clothes to push him away but to pull him closer instead because oh good lord no, his hips aren't already grinding against the denim of your jeans as it is. You're clawing at him like he's the oxygen you need to breathe, like if he isn't _right there_ you'll die. It's desperate enough to make you look like the guilty party – the one with the bloody hammer. The smoking pistol in your unsteady grip.

And certainly that swelling, tickling sensation squirming in the area between your navel and your pelvis isn't you being turned on because there is just no room for feelings to be involved here. At least that's what you're going to keep telling yourself. You and denial have always been on good terms. You're not going to believe a word he says. Cause oh darling, oh precious, he can say he loves you all he wants. Offer you the world and tell you his promises are as good as gold but hunny, baby, darling, sweetest of sweethearts, any high school drop out can afford 14 karats.

You swear the words he mumbles around your neck and shoulder are that of the loving kind. They're sincere, they're real, they're strictly for you and _no_ one else, but you know how these charmers work their magic. You've seen countless girls fall victim to the tragedy of boys who knew how to speak with a silver tongue.

After all, beautiful, you in-too-deep diluted child, you're both green and clueless in the start of your teenage years and don't know any better – you don't know a damn thing about suppressing hormones and curiosity and definitely not about the power someone else can have on your self-control.

Ikki sure doesn't seem to know that restrictions even exist because he's leaving traces of himself all over you, and you, you sickeningly addicted thing, can't find anything wrong with that. Admit it, you want this but you don't know what this is, or what it means to him, if it means anything at all. Cause how can you mean that much to him? And do you honestly think that letting him take such violent advantage of you will make him like you more?

Are you confused, darling? Would he want to take advantage of you if he didn't want you? Baby darling, you're young and stupid and his hands are in constant motion, but for as much as they're traveling and for as often as his lips crash into yours, it doesn't have to mean anything. It can be ignored, you can pretend to forget, only if he does so first, because neither of you know any better. You don't need to be emotionally attached for it to feel so good, right?

And the guilt that you're starting to feel, love, for when this ends and you move on and the memories start to gnaw at your innards and dissolves your appetite, will take a while to subside. Because face it, you _are_ too close and too hopeful that these things don't happen for no reason to not be bothered by the concept of walking away and pretending it never took place. You're not so good at forgetting things, 'specially when you'll be lugging around the evidence for a few days after.

But here you are, getting swept away and mind racing with thoughts that try to convince you that you are never meant to be happy or loved like this. Even when he hoists your legs up to wrap around his waist, you, gorgeous, still can't stop your heart from wrenching because you still don't know what this _is_ or why it's happening.

When tomorrow comes, will you be able to meet his eyes, hunny? Will he be able to look at you, and with a look to prove to you that no, you aren't just a thing to release sexual tension on, but a real, breathing, bleeding heart he's fallen hard for… But then again, sugar, that's the kind of blind thinking that makes a razor a girl's best friend. You're as fragile and pathetic as them, aren't you, baby? Those foolish girls. Don't get sucked into their world, into his eyes so sharp and deceiving.

His tongue and the corner of your mouth are getting friendly, and there's no more space between your stomachs. It's not just you tugging anymore, darling, he's got a pretty vicious grip on the small of your back now, yanking as if he can make you closer than touching. That smell is circling you again, a poisonous gas invading your mind and tilting the room something fierce because hunny, that's _you_ throwing your head back and screaming his name. That's your voice bouncing off the walls and encouraging him to move faster, harder. Like he needs it almost as badly as you do.

Hunny. Baby. Doll. Pay attention. He's saying your name now.

Don't look so stupid though, now that you're blinking into awareness and looking right at him. He's lowering your legs back to the ground, holding you by the arms because now you can't remember how to stand. Don't go fumbling over your words now; you won't have nothin' left.

But sweety, your mouth is moving and nothings coming out, and now he's grinning at you like a wildcat, like he knew he'd have that effect on you. And the way he's looking at you shoots the hope right back up to the moon even after all the convincing you've done for yourself to prove otherwise, because honestly, what reason does Minami Itsuki have to jostle you like a plaything and then leave you stranded and empty-handed? Anyone else, maybe, but not you, not his childhood friend, not…

"Kazu."

Sweet thing, apple of his eye, anyone who says your name like that _can't _be illusory. But make up your mind, sunshine, fire to his eyes, do you love him or are you afraid of what that would mean? Do you trust him or have you no faith at all? People like him don't have tolerance for such dragging indecision – black and white, either you do or you don't.

So do you?

"Ahnn, y-yeah?"

Very intelligent. Care to try again, Romeo? Swallow the spit that's built up in the back of your throat and make something a bit more coherent. It'd help if you'd focus those baby blues of yours and stop leaning all your weight into his hands. You've never been a know-it-all with all things romantic and you don't know the first thing about seducing another boy, but whatever it is you're doing, he's falling for it, cause his eyes are half lidded now, and his brows have softly raised, and you're close enough to his face to know that he's not looking into your eyes. He's too busy gawking at your gaping mouth.

So basically, Prince Charming, the wind beneath his wings, you've taken too long to speak and the answer you try to supply is being swallowed by him, because he just can't resist the horny teenage boy urge to kiss those lips of yours. Don't mind the sting on your scalp; that's just him curling needy fingers into your hair to angle your head back a little so he can kiss you deeper. Taste you fully. Test your gag reflex.

And by now you know, hunny, you can feel it in those quaking bones; you've reach the point of no return. You're too far gone and too far in for this to be forgotten. By now you're wondering if he even wants to forget, or if he even wanted to in the first place. Because sugar, stars in his sky, this boy can have anyone and its _you_ he's got this vice grip on as if he's afraid you're the one who's going to walk away and fulfill an acting career pretending this night was just a dream.

That damn midnight sun shining blue and purple through the window and highlighting his hair isn't doing you any favors, only making you hot and craving the very thing that was scaring you shitless moments before. He looks so crazy under such a glow, and hunny who knew you were into that sort of thing?

You horn dog, you're huffing your air in and out through your nose, refusing to pull your mouth away from his like a selfish little thing. This is what it must be like, darling, to get so caught up that consequences are nothing but a fairytale created to pacify those with a clear conscience. You are not one of those people, babe; you've lost all ability to think with a clear head the very instant Ikki pushed you into that room and slammed the door. Your free will submerged somewhere deep the very moment your back cracked against the table's edge.

Do you really know what you wanted to get out of this, hunny? Five minutes ago seems more like days, and come on sugar, you don't know yourself nearly as good as you think you do. You don't know what true passion feels like, what sex actually smells like or how pain can be a form of pleasure when executed properly. When you walk away from this, you'll probably leave your beating heart in the front pocket of his jacket and he'll leave you a customized necklace of dead skin cells. A token of his affections, if you will.

But it can still be more than that, sweetheart. It doesn't have to be as catch-and-release as you're thinking. Stop that train of thought before you get stuck in it. You have to give Minami Itsuki a little more credit than a one-night-stand kind of person, 'specially when it's you he's dealing with here. Surely you're not as discardable as the others. Not as easily forgotten as some starry eyed girl. No, no. You're much more than that, aren't you darling?

"Hello? Did you even hear me?"

Maybe you should let the boy speak for himself before you go jumping into conclusions. Grab his hand, make him stop waving it in front of your face like that. Meet his eyes, now, gorgeous. You're listening now.

"Ah, sorry. Missed it. What?"

Shakespeare would be jealous.

"I said you don't look so good."

"Just a little dizzy," you tell him simply. Not a lie; you're still pressed against him with the bottoms of your feet all lopsided and retarded, _still_ forgetting how to stand. "Here, let me just…"

But when you try to push yourself away, his hands won't let you. It's like he wants you to stay put. Take from this what you can, baby darling, bury your nose into the cotton of his shirt and inhale him like a lethal drug. Listen to his heartbeat to know you're still alive. It still feels a bit too unreal, doesn't it? You need some kind of confirmation to know that you're not this hopeless case clinging to a dream. Hell, even if it's rejection you're hit with, let him do it now and get it over with, so you can compose yourself and help your feet find solid ground faster.

Oh but baby, vigor to his words and gleam in his smile, he wouldn't hold you this close just so he could shove you back. Can't you see he doesn't want you to leave? Can't you see how stupid you can really be sometimes?

He's mumbling something but you're pressing your face too far into his chest that it's lost – something about never showing you or telling you sooner, and you almost want to laugh because you do, too. Oh, the hot and bothered sleepless nights you could have avoided if this guy would have made a move sooner, but you can't really blame him. You're a confusing little thing to read; there was really no telling how you'd take it. You're a make or break deal.

"Ik… Ikki…" you mumble – moan, rather – when his fingers are fiddling at the bottom of your shirt, lifting it slightly as if he's testing you, but really when his name fell from your mouth you weren't questioning anything. His name tastes good so it's a good thing he'll be making you say it here and there.

The shine of the moon hits your belly when your shirt goes up a little further. He can't stop staring. And you're just plain exhausted, precious, and he knows that, because you still have no idea how your footing works at all anymore and your hands are clinging at his arms for support. But you help him remove your shirt because you know round two is going to feel better. Less riddled with doubts and what ifs. This time you're going to know what it means, baby. Let's do this one more time but hold nothing back.

You can take it as it is, darling, however you want as the cool air hits your skin and he pushes you back tenderly, where the small of your back snaps delightfully against the edge of the table.


End file.
